I was only going to play Trick or Treat with that kid and I ended up literally scaring him to death instead. Why does this keep happening to me? =(
I don't know about you, but the real horror story for me at this time of the year is figuring out to properly budget for upcoming holidays. That and trying to work out what ideal gifts to purchase for friends and relatives this year without breaking the bank. The last thing anyone wants is to stare at their bank account in regret come the new year.
But I digress. Halloween.
Thank you to everyone who submitted an entry! The theme of this latest writing event is sleep paralysis and let me just use this occasion to tell you how lucky I am to have never once suffered sleep paralysis. I can't even imagine the kind of ghoulish frights that await me if ever that day arrives. I wouldn't want to sleep ever again. To anyone who does suffer from sleep paralysis - or worse, regularly suffer it - my thoughts go out to you, because that surely must be horrible and not something you can easily get used to.
#1 - A Fair PunishmentThe airship hurriedly sliced through sky and storm. The splash of torrential rainfall, combined with the illumination of the twin moons, gave the impression of a dory fish darting from a predator. There may well be plenty of fish in the sea, but she was special and irreplaceable.
With both ego and body shattered, the solitary Cid Fabool, the ninth regent of Lindblum, stumbled into their bedroom. His wife, Lady Hildagarde, had caught him red-handed with his grubby hands adoring the sumptuous curves of the buxom waitress, like an engineer inspecting a fleet of inflated blimps, with himself aspiring to be the pilot. Still reeling from the shock and embarrassment of being discovered, Cid closed his door with a slow, regretful click.
As he waddled through their room, the rueful regent cast a weary glance at his broken frame in their mirror. While Cid was still tall, it seemed as if his regal composure had been sapped through the fangs of a Lamia. Resembling a slain Flan, his depressed shoulders drooped, his face was haggard and his eyes were red with tears. His grey hair had been ruffled roughly by his fingers. Only his moustache appeared correct, curling upwards like the well-cared for horns of a sacred bull. He tweaked nervously at the waxed points, sighed, and then hobbled like Nosferatu towards his bed.
The whole affair left the man shaken and disturbed. Not only had he lost his dear wife, but his prized airship, incidentally named after her, had taken flight. With her at the helm, he was unsure if he’d ever see it again.
Standing beside their bed, Cid looked at his slender hands.
“I’ll make another one!” he promised himself with a brief flash of renewed enthusiasm, then he crawled into bed and turned off his bedside lamp. Pulling the covers over his body, he created a comforting cocoon to shield him from the horrors of his day.
Such a pity nothing could have shielded him from the approaching horrors of the night...
Such cosy comforts were fated to be short-lived that evening. So heavy were the pressures upon Cid’s mind, it felt as if Titan himself was straining, and failing, to keep them at bay above his head. Restless and incapable of sleep, Cid tossed and turned like a sizzling Yan sausage in a frying pan, or like a soul tortured in the hellish dungeon of Tartarus. Cid eventually came to rest facing his curtain: a rich hanging of red silk, with images of hammers intricately sewn into it with golden thread. This was one of many visual reminders of his industrious sophistication, but without reminding him of his ruined romantic relationship with his poor wife.
Cid’s eyelids repeatedly closed and reopened, as if mimicking the motions of South Gate letting the busy airship traffic pass in and out. He was in a liminal state between sleep and consciousness when he noticed a gentle movement in the curtain.
One of the retainers must have left the blasted window open, Cid thought. It certainly felt colder without the comforting warmth of his wife, though the furnaces below should still have been warm from their day’s work.
The window, however, was fastened shut. There was no breeze. No sound at all, in fact, save for the rhythmic, mechanical pumping of Cid’s anxious heart. It was as if the Eidolon Atomos had sucked the atmosphere out of the entire universe, leaving only Cid behind.
The curtain moved again, rippling like the surface of disturbed water. Slowly, and deliberately, a white, featureless face pressed through the gap between the curtains. In his dazed stupor Cid assumed it to be a porcelain theatre mask. Maybe one of those Tantalus boys were messing around again, neglecting the delicate task he had set for them. The regent attempted to shout at the rascals but quickly found that he could not form any words.
Midway down the curtain, a solitary, wormlike finger poked out and slowly crept up towards the peering prowler. With the index finger still pointing, the full hand revealed itself, as pale as a Qu and equally indeterminable of gender.
As much as Cid wished he could have bellowed like a furnace to alert the guards, his lips appeared petrified, and all colour had drained from them.
The skeletal finger pressed itself against the lips of the intruder. The unnerving being silently mouthed Shhhhh! as it smiled with sinister intent. A second hand began its journey, reaching out from the curtains towards Cid, like a harpy eager to snatch the adulterer’s spooked soul with its talons.
“WAAH!”
With the fingers inches from his face, Cid finally managed a shout and shook himself from the enthralment of his nightmare. The figure was gone. Nothing lurked behind the curtain.
“Blooming heck! What did she put in that wine?” he asked himself, recalling Lady Hilda’s last act of kindness before their heated argument.
No longer fond of the view of the curtain, Cid turned on the lamp and changed his position, electing to lie on his back and admire the portrait on the wall in front of him. Depicted was Queen Brahne and her husband with their daughter, Princess Garnet, all smiling with warmth and affection. The regent’s unbound lips smiled contently following the line of his curved moustache.
“Those were the good old days…” Cid reflected. “Back then that family, my friends, were harmonious and happy… and so were me and Hilda.”
As Cid scoured the painting, it seemed to him that the three figures’ smiles were growing wider and wider, creeping into mortally impossible, toothy, Cheshire Cat grins. At the very moment the perplexed regent realised that this was no mere trick of the light, the picture of Brahne suddenly throttled her husband with one hand, and stabbed him in the back with a kitchen knife with the other. The oblivious Princess continued to stare out of the painting at Cid, her grin incessant as her father’s eyes popped out behind her.
Once more, Cid gasped as he writhed in his bedsheets like a wounded Malboro. Yet again, he seemed to be alone, poisoned in his horrors.
“By Ramuh! My mind’s on overdrive tonight!” he cried, shaking his head and then refocusing his gaze on the painting, which had now reset to its intended image.
“Everyone close to the Queen has noticed the change in her behaviour, b-but that? That’s a step too far…” he reasoned.
Still startled, Cid surveyed his room to check for further surprise hallucinations. There were no more figures behind his curtain. No more phantoms in his portraits. No bogeymen in his bin. No ghouls in his hanging gown. He felt calmer under the assumption that his mind was merely working through the issues of the day.
“Heh. If I hadn’t messed up. If I wasn’t alone tonight none of this would be happening!” he mused.
Without warning, Cid felt something grab his foot!
Instinctively throwing off his covers, Cid took a tentative, fearful look towards the foot of the bed and observed there was a hand with a firm, unrelenting hold of his right foot. The hand’s sibling stroked the regent’s left knee before the full figure lifted its head into view with the jolted movements of a carnival automaton.
Unlike the ambiguous curtain creeper, this entity was undoubtedly female. Her loose, blonde hair obscured much of her face, but her vivacious lips smirked coquettishly. The creature emitted a brief giggle which bounced off the walls and appeared to echo for minutes.
After slowly crawling onto the bed she then swiftly scurried like an insect over Cid and nested on his chest. She sat there silently, waving her head from side to side with an inane smile, as the regent gawked in bewildered horror.
Now up close, Cid recognised the face of his wife Hilda. Although her movements were unbecoming of her, she looked beautiful, he thought. A long whiff of her lotus flower perfume transported his mind back to his prime period of happiness, for a fleeting moment.
Hilda wrapped her hands around her husband’s throat and began to throttle him.
“Ah! Wow! You haven’t been like this since our honeym-oww!!” Cid gasped, his wife’s hands clasping ever more tightly, the pressure upon his chest becoming equally unbearable.
“He he he, hubby-wubby! Very sorry to bug you!” whispered Hilda with a wink before erupting into an uncontrollable fit of high-pitched giggles.
As Cid squirmed and fought without success against his cacophonous captor, Hilda’s skin started to shed. Huge paper-like ribbons of flesh appeared to envelop Cid as his wife’s skeleton’s laugh continued with a newfound deep, otherworldly pitch.
The regent’s skeletal spouse then leant forward as if to kiss her husband on his lips. The sight of the approaching skull shook Cid awake once more.
Hilda was gone. Her moulted flesh had reverted to their sensory source: his bed covers. This time, however, Cid found little comfort upon escaping his horror, having guessed one final act was to be performed upon him.
No less than a minute later, the petrified Cid felt a tickle on the outside of his left leg. There was no chance he was going to check under the covers again, so he ignored it. The tickle continued, and appeared to move up to his abdomen. The sensation was joined by other tickles on his other leg, and his arms, and all over his chest.
Acting out of terror rather than his usual intrepid curiosity, Cid attempted to look down but found that, once again, he was frozen stiff. His body, it appeared, was growing below the neck. It looked as if somebody was pumping him up like a balloon, or irritating a feral Bomb, pushing up the bedcovers to form a volcano of impending doom.
Upon filling all available space, the ‘volcano’ erupted. A stream of oglops scuttled down the side of the slopes of the shrinking bedcover mountain. Hundreds of the critters headed straight for Cid’s exposed, screaming head.
The post-larval lava crawled into their new homes: Cid’s frantic mouth, his ears, and even up his nostrils. Their number swiftly blocked all natural entry points, and the remainder of the skull-faced bugs were forced to burrow deep into every inch of his being through holes of their own making.
Cid felt like he had become one of his airships on the construction line, being drilled with rivets, and he had the gnawing feeling that each individual oglop could be his wife. The pain was so excruciating he passed out.
Upon awaking, Cid discovered by the light peeping through the curtain that, despite the odds, he had survived until morning.
After a sharp double-tap on the door, a retainer entered the regent’s chambers carrying Cid’s Zuu omelette breakfast. With the warbling shriek of a strangled chocobo, the retainer promptly dropped the silver tray and ran from the room with all haste.
Cid tried to question the man as he fled, but only a buzzing, ticking noise left his mouth. Puzzled, and concerned about the shouting he could hear down the hall, he scratched his head, but could no longer feel hair or flesh.
“Away, beast!” shouted a Lindblum guard as he ran into the room, catching Cid unawares. As the guard prodded Cid with his hammer-polearm, the hunted regent instinctively leapt onto the ceiling and crawled about upside down with unnatural ease.
This came as a greater shock to Cid than it did the Lindblum guard, but the retainer and other castle staff pulled the guard out of the room for fear of damaging the priceless antiques in any prolonged scuffle. The door was slammed shut and locked tight.
Cid dropped from the ceiling with a thud. What has gotten into everyone? He pondered.
He crawled up to the mirror and with one glance he immediately flipped onto his back in agitated horror. He had seen himself as a giant oglop! The skull-faced pest’s primped and proper moustache was all that remained of his former elegance.
Hilda’s revenge was complete.
In a moment of bitter clarity, Cid understood the poetic justice of his punishment.
“I zu-*tick*. I zzupposzze I havvve been a verminouzz *tick* inzekt!”
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#2 - Beauty's Wicked Wiles
The town of Altair rejoiced with regaled revelry. Where naught but black and despair filtered ceaselessly through the town’s ruined and formerly bustling streets, it was swiftly replaced with celebration and hope. The accursed Dreadnought – the Empire’s touted invincible weapon of mass destruction – was vanquished. Its end an inglorious incendiary blaze of steel and hubris.
Not only had a small band of young, unassuming Wild Rose rebels achieved the seeming impossible by felling the Dreadnought, but they had rescued the kidnapped Princess Hilda from foul imperial clutches. All was well!
It did not however, take long for the mood to sour over the health of the princess. Since her rescue from the Dreadnought, Hilda had largely confined herself to her quarters. This seemed understandable – she had after all witnessed her own people face slaughter at the hands of imperial soldiers, was forced into exile along with her government to the small provincial town of Altair and above all, had to endure the deaths of both her fiancé and her father. Circumstances this personally harrowing would reasonably render anyone catatonic and withdrawn. The poor woman needed time to grieve and come to terms with her losses.
What was not normal however, were the eerie, echoing cackles emanating from within her quarters. This was not a one-off occurrence – when her perturbed guards and handmaidens sought to check up on her, the princess responded to every one of their worried inquiries with deranged laughter.
“People grieve in different ways,” said Prince Gordon, the sole surviving member of Kashuan royalty whose late brother was betrothed to the princess, “but the fact that all she does is laugh whenever I attempt to speak with her really emphasises how useless I am. Could the king’s death have really affected her this badly?”
The prince could only fidget uncomfortably in his seat as his dejected eyes slowly darted around the room, barely able to make eye contact with Firion, Maria, Guy and Leila. This was once again the prince’s inferiority complex at full force. No doubt his mind was preoccupied with thoughts about how his far more competent older brother – were he still alive now – would be far more capable of reaching out to Hilda.
“GUY WANT TO MAKE PRINCESS FEEL BETTER, BUT PRINCESS NOT BEAVER SO GUY NOT KNOW IF HE CAN SPEAK WELL,” Guy said, with his usual level of eloquence that would put certain real life presidents to shame.
“I’ll pass,” Leila candidly blurted, with a slight slur that indicated she had likely spent the prior evening at the tavern, “look, I’m just a pirate lass. Hell, I don’t even give a shit about politics. I haven’t a clue why I’m here either, because at the end of the day yer talking to someone who slit some scurvy buggers’ throats, extorted some mad Gil out of suckers and thrown a bunch of landlubbers overboard to be Leviathan food. Me an’ the princess have nothin’ in common and there’s point in me trying to have a heart-to-heart chinwag with her!”
“I feel so sorry for the princess and I would love to help,” meekly interjected Maria, “but unfortunately I have literally zero personality as a character in this story so there’s no feasible way I can get through to her.”
Firion could only grit his teeth. Of course they were going to delegate the duty to him as if he was the protagonist of this tale. He too had as little personality as Maria and carried as much charisma as a wooden door. He could have feasibly opened his mouth to object, as he wanted to do literally anything other than provide emotional shoulder to a disturbed princess, but at that very moment his mouth conveniently elected to go on strike.
“Then it’s settled,” sighed Prince Gordon, “Firion, would you try speaking to her for me? Unlike me, you still have a tiny mote of self-esteem left in you that she has yet to extinguish.”
Quick as a flash, Firion’s disloyal companions bolted from the room. The gormless Firion could do naught but haul his reluctant and heavy bones over to the direction of Hilda’s chambers. The guard standing by her door nonverbally granted him only the briefest of pity before ushering him in. The door slammed shut behind him almost immediately. Now he was trapped.
Standing right at his face was the princess in all her perturbing radiance. A cold, pale finger pressed against Firion’s lips and the young man found his senses swiftly dulled by a curious haze emanating the room and the overpowering scent of lavender and incense. His eyelids grew increasingly heavy and an unfamiliar sensation of sleep and burgeoning libido swept over him.
“Hello, Firion,” came Hilda’s uncharacteristically silky, sultry voice, “There is something I would like to discuss with you. Come now, I don’t like to be teased.”
The dazed Firion could only blankly acquiesce as Hilda’s icy-cold hand led him to her bed. Before he knew it, he had laid flat on his back on the bed, slack-jawed as the princess proceeded to slowly disrobe, her uninterrupted piercing gaze transfixed on him. As layer after layer of fabric and garment was tossed to the side and the smell of incense only intensified, Firion finally succumbed, allowing the warm embrace of sleep to claim him.
When his senses seemingly returned, it was to witness his bare, chiselled body in all its glory. The agonising sensation of orgasmic bliss rippled through him, but he could neither respond by flailing his limbs nor utter a sound. He was simultaneously overcome by panic by his unexpected immobility and euphoria as Hilda lay atop him, her icy tongue sensually dancing against his equally cold and static lips.
“Sssso closssse,” she hissed, “cassst off all inhibitionssss, Firion. Return to sssslumber sssso that thisss sssenssssation may lasssst for all of eternity.”
The suffocating pink haze cloaking the room fortuitously lifted just enough to allow Firion’s stammering eyeballs to finally drink in the princess’s appearance. Where he assumed would be a pair of legs was now melding into a single, writhing appendage – not of pale, velvety skin, but coarse, rubbery scales. Her sensual tongue had now grown inhumanly long and forked at the tip. The pupils of her formerly azure eyes contracted into glistening dark slits. What remained of those regal locks of golden blonde hair tumbled from her head like autumn leaves, leaving behind only branches of thick, wild purple hair.
The choked sound of a gasping gargle was the only sound his immobilised body could make as Firion’s quivering eyes darted down to stare at his own body. No longer was his skin of a healthy complexion. As “Hilda” seductively ran her algid fingers across his toned, moderately muscular bare body, the skin slowly turned an ashen grey. He stared horrified at his hands to see the skin literally in the process of gradual disintegration until he could see the dried tendons, sinew and bone underneath. The flesh on his chest was steadily decomposing before his very eyes, outwardly exposing a myriad of blackening organs and an array of bony ribs within.
His vision too began to quickly fade as the serpentine princess ran that dry, leathery, forked tongue across his now brittle and moulting face. It was safe to assume his eyeballs were now no longer intact and presumably nor was his nose, because the stench of lavender and incense was now imperceptible. For reasons unbeknownst to Firion however, he still retained his sense of hearing, which suggested perhaps this imposter princess lacked an ear fetish.
While his flesh literally greyed and decomposed, Firion remained cognisant of the fact that he could feel no pain or agony. The sexual sensation of bliss had not receded one iota and on the contrary seemed to only magnify in intensity as his addled mind began to wander into a state of incorporeal limbo. His only remaining tie to the mortal realm were the lewd hisses from the princess as she continued to presumably savour his delicious body.
“The real prinssssessss issss in another cassssstle but unlike you, she issss no fun to play with. Give in, my dear Firion, and let your beloved Lakshmi ssssatisssfy your sssslumbering sssssoul for the resssst of ti-”
“NOT SO FAST, YER SCURVY SNAKE!”
------------
When consciousness returned, Firion instinctively sat upright on the bed. Rejoice! He could move his limbs again! And he could see! And joys from up high, for his skin, flesh and other bits of organic matter were intact! However, he was literally naked and his now flaccid broadsword was exposed to the world.
“GUY NO LIKE SNAKES. GUY SMASH!” Guy grunted, staring at a now writhing lamia queen whom he had presumably shoulder tackled to the corner wall.
Maria audibly gasped and clasped her hands to her mouth when she saw Firion in all his fleshy glory. Leila could only cast furtive glances at him...or rather, a specific part of him. Her reaction was not as easy to read, until she opened her mouth.
“Niiiiice! Yer first time and ye did it with a snake lady!”
- - - - - - - - - -
#3 - A Ribbiting story
#3 - A Ribbiting storyIt was the same old same old when I went to bed that one dreary night. Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the day, aside from the awesome loot we snagged from the Quandra nobleman’s house that evening. I managed to pocket a funny looking frog figurine on the way out the window, but what I assumed were ruby eyes were sadly nothing worth of value. However it made for an amusing display piece propped up on my nightstand, joining the other worthless knick-knacks that I’ve accumulated over the years.
My nightly routine went as usual and before long I was washing my face in our communal washroom. I caught a glimpse of the handsome fellow in the mirror before shooting my finger guns at him, “Zidane, you are one handsome devil!” I gave a hearty chest bump before heading off to bed, too infatuated with thoughts of myself to even notice my smiling reflection halting movement as I turned to leave the room.
“Ribbit!” croaked Cinna from the other room. He had many odd habits I’ll admit, but he made the strangest noises when he had the hiccups.
“Off to get my usual sixteen hours of beauty sleep, boys! Try not to wake me.” I walked down the hall and gave my usual air-kisses to my adoring fans as they flipped me off, including Blank who made double offerings from both of his hands.
I promptly made it into my room and plopped down on the bed, kicking a leg over my knee while tossing my hands behind my head. I looked over at my froggy figurine and humorously gave it it’s own kiss before laughing and tossing it back on my nightstand. “Ahhh, Zidane, you are one sly cat.”
It couldn’t have been more than three hours before I was woken up from my slumber. It was dark in the room and most of the guys must have gone to sleep by now. I attempted to roll over, but was burdened by the ropes tied tightly around my wrists. Was it Helga? Or maybe it was Christine that was into this kind of stuff?
‘Haha, nice try Rachel!’ is what I would have said if my mouth had moved. I was a bit perplexed and tried moving my eyes around the room to figure out who had restrained me down to the bed like this... and if she was cute enough to cancel out the crazy.
… but what’s with that croaking sound? Fucking hell, Cinna! You and your stupid hiccups! I can hear you all the way down here, and it’s really putting a damper on the mood being set right now.
The croaking got a bit louder as I began to sweat. I looked to my nightstand at the frog figurine staring at me from the side, the ruby eyes seemingly peering into my soul. Was it that figurine that was the source of the croaking?
Plop! Plop-Plop! Plop!
My eyes widened as I looked to the ceiling as several frogs rained down from the cracks. Their straggly bodies landed on me as I tried to call out for help, but to no avail!
“Zidane…” They croaked as they began jumping all over my motionless body, coating me with their slimy bodies.
“Zidane… I ḣ̶̡̏͠e̸͈͘l̵̡̑͘ṗ̴̡̯̍͊ you~”
“You no̶͖͋ like?”
“Zidaa̶̡̘͌̉ã̷̡͔͑ă̸̮ane?”
I opened my mouth to scream before tossing up a huge golden frog, pelting it across the room by the power of my handsome screams and unfiltered manly testosterone. The sound of my screaming was enough to wake me from my sleep, and I shot up from the floor, headbutting my nose into Quina’s ugly face.
“AHHHH!” We communally screamed! I looked up at my surroundings and concerned party members that sat peering over the dinner table. As it turns out, despite Gigan Toads being a common monster in the Qu's Marsh wetlands, Quina still had a lot of learning to do when it came to cooking their apparently poisonous legs.
I think they all deserve recognition for effort.
It reminds me of Genesis’ song The Lamia in some of the language of this particularly seductive take on the creature. But the fact that the story prompts us to imagine Lakshmi's theme from FFXIV is also highly appropriate. 
